The Last Big Job hc-4

by Nick Oldham

  Whilst walking back to the table, Hodge caught sight of two men sitting on the grass by the outer garden wall, a good 100 metres away. They had rifles propped across their knees. Hodge sat down heavily, frightened.

  ‘ What’s going on? Why am I here?’ Hodge demanded.

  Loz shrugged uncaringly. ‘Eat your breakfast. You’ll find out soon enough.’

  Hodge poked at his food, pushing it aimlessly around the plate, wishing he was back home, had never thought up this fucking scheme, and was back earning six quid an hour.

  He heard voices from inside the villa. Don Smith and Billy Crane appeared from within, looking relaxed and cool.

  ‘ Colin!’ Smith said loudly. He strode to Hodge and held out his hand to be shaken.

  Hodge recoiled. ‘No chance! I want to know what’s going on. I want to know where I am, what I’m doing here and then I want you to take me back to the airport because I’m going home. This whole deal is off. No one treats me like this,’ he snarled, slashing the air with the edge of his hand. ‘No fucker.’

  ‘ Sit down, Colin,’ Smith said with a patient smile.

  ‘ Do not screw me around. I want out of here, out of this, now.’

  ‘ Sit down, Mr Hodge,’ Crane said from behind Smith. ‘Let me explain a few things to you.’

  ‘ No, you set of twats. Let me explain a few things to you.’ Hodge gestured angrily at them both. ‘This is my show, my deal. I run it, not you couple of wankers. Get me into a car and get me home, because it’s off. Understand? Off!’

  ‘ No, no, no, no, no, no,’ Crane said patronisingly. ‘You have started a ball rolling. It’s not going to stop until it reaches the bottom of the hill now, Mr Hodge. So sit down and pin your lug-holes back. I have started talking to people, arranging things, promising things — and these people are not like me and my friend here: patient and friendly. They are ruthless and would not hesitate to kill should they be disappointed in you. The fact of the matter is, you are involved now and you cannot pull out. And why would you want to, anyway? All that lovely money…’

  It was all lies about the people, but Hodge did not have to know this. He stared from one villain to the other, shaking with rage. Smith nodded reassuringly at him. He was trapped. He sank slowly back into his chair.

  ‘ Good man,’ Crane said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll get myself some breakfast, then we’ll have a chat.’

  ‘ Me too,’ said Smith.

  They walked to the servery and began to select food and drink.

  ‘ Butter him up again,’ Crane whispered to Smith. Then he turned to Loz, still lounging, and said, ‘Get lost.’

  Like an unwanted, unloved dog, Loz slunk away.

  ‘ Now then Colin,’ Smith said smoothly, sitting down, ‘you’ve got to understand a few facts here.’ Crane sat down opposite and began to eat, not saying a word. ‘You’re right, OK, this is still your show. That will not be taken away from you. We have no wish to make it any different. You’re the guy with all the gen and we are relying on you. You call the shots. You are the man. But by the same token, we’re providing all the tools to do the job and because of the nature of who we are and who else is going to be involved — because make no mistake, Colin, this is going to be a big job and a lot of people will be involved — we have to have a degree of protection. That’s what this is about. Protection from outsiders. OK, you know who I am. I accept that, but there is no need to know anything about this man here, other than he is the organiser of all the resources. We have a lot to lose if the cops, for example, get hold of you, and you start blabbing.’ Smith forked some scrambled egg into his mouth. ‘See where I’m coming from? It’s to protect you and us.’

  Hodge breathed in deeply. ‘Yeah, but I’ve been treated like shit and I don’t like it.’

  ‘ That’s very much down to the way you were brought here, and we can only apologise for the manner in which our associate interpreted our instructions to him. He will be reprimanded.’

  Hodge began to soften. The rhetoric, coupled with his own greed, was having a calming effect. He gave a minor shrug. ‘You going to tell me where I am?’

  ‘ At a house somewhere on Gomera. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘ And what am I supposed to call you if you won’t tell me your name?’ he asked of Crane.

  Crane considered this. ‘You can call me Matt — Matt Brinks.’

  He smiled for the first time.

  John Connor was a Detective Chief Inspector in the Greater Manchester Police. Henry had known him for many years, having attended a few national detective training courses with him. It could not be said they were great buddies, but they got along.

  Connor leaned on the table. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Henry.’

  Henry said sarcastically, ‘You would say that.’

  ‘ Say what?’ Connor was very confused. ‘I don’t know what the hell you mean.’

  Henry peered into Connor’s eyes. ‘He’s briefed you, hasn’t he? To say nothing to me, hasn’t he?’

  ‘ Henry, are you off your tree? I’ve come here in all good faith as the result of a very mysterious phone call and you lay something on me I just do not understand. Tell me what you’re on about, or else I’m off.’

  ‘ What has Rupert Davison told you about me?’

  ‘ Nothing.’

  ‘ Have you seen and used a statement by a guy called Frank Jagger in your investigation into Jacky Lee’s murder? In particular when interviewing Gary Thompson and Gunk Elphick?’

  Connor shook his head.

  ‘ Did you know an undercover operation was going on regarding Jacky Lee?’

  ‘ No.’

  Henry closed his eyes in deep despair and dropped his head.

  ‘ Henry, what the hell are you talking about here?’

  Malcolm Fitch. Date of birth 16.11.1940, Blackburn, Lancashire. Two convictions, 1982, 1984. Both for conspiracy to rob. OIC in both cases Detective Inspector Barney Gillrow, a Lancashire officer seconded to the Regional Crime Squad, based in Bolton. File held at that office.

  Having purged her body of everything that was making her unwell, Danny now felt much better. Her head still throbbed unrelentingly, but the stomach pains and cramps had disappeared. She was half human again, but obviously still half dead.

  She read the PNC printout again and highlighted the salient points with a pen, thrilled that at last she was looking at the identity of the third dead body from the vehicle inspection pit. She had been on to the Fingerprint Bureau to ask them to double-check the details and they promised a result by the end of the day.

  There was no current address for Fitch and it would appear he had not come to police attention since his last conviction fourteen years ago. What she needed to do was start pulling together some up-to-date information on him ASAP. Her gaze settled on the name of the officer who had dealt with Fitch. Perhaps he would be a good starting point. She wondered if she knew Gillrow, but the name didn’t ring any bells with her. The fact that he was a Detective Inspector in 1984 suggested he might not even be in the job now. Could be retired. Might even be dead.

  First port of call was the HR department at Headquarters to find the current status of Gillrow.

  Five minutes later, her fears were confirmed. Gillrow had retired in 1990 and was now living in Tenerife.

  Danny gave her temple a knock with the base of her hand and tried to concentrate, devise a way ahead. She looked at the details of the dead man again and those of the former DJ. HR had provided Danny with an overseas phone number for Gillrow and she thought that starting with him would be as good a place as any. She picked up the phone and dialled the number. It connected remarkably quickly and rang out clearly. No one answered. She hung up after two dozen rings, intending to try later.

  Her next avenue was to the Field Intelligence Officer (FIO) at Blackburn, a detective she knew well from her days in the town many years before. This time, even though she was calling internally, the line was
nowhere near as clear as the overseas one had appeared to be.

  ‘ Danny Furness! A rave from the grave! How are you, gal? Haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘ Doing great,’ she said, holding the phone away from her ear. ‘And you?’

  They exchanged the requisite pleasantries before Danny posed the question about Fitch, deceased, of that parish.

  The FIO interrogated Lancashire Constabulary’s own computerised intelligence system first — but it came up with nothing about Fitch. ‘Doesn’t mean to say we don’t have anything on him. I’ll check the manual files. Hang on…’ The phone was placed on a desk. Danny heard cabinet drawers sliding open, some background chatter, the tapping of a computer keyboard. Eventually the FIO came back on the line. ‘Nothing in the active files, Danny, but there is a file in the “dead section”. An old one… dum de dah… let’s have a looksee

  … no, nowt since the mid-eighties. I take it he’s reappeared on the scene?’

  ‘ In a manner of speaking. Being in the dead section is remarkably apt — he’s the third body in the job over here. Just identified him this morning.’

  ‘ Oh, interesting… which possibly means he’s been bang at it and we didn’t know. He’s obviously upset someone.’

  ‘ Upset is a little mild. Really upset, I’d say.’

  ‘ There is a marker on the file. Any interest to you?’

  ‘ Go on.’

  ‘ It’s an RCS reference, now NCS of course. Bolton office. Got a pen? I’ll read it out.’

  Danny noted it down, asked the FIO to copy the file and send it immediately to her.

  Next she opened the Police Almanac and found the number for the NCS office at Bolton and made a similar request to the one she’d initially made of the FIO. The woman she spoke to took details and promised to ring back within ten minutes, which she did.

  ‘ I can confirm that we do have a file in that name. Can’t give you any details over the phone, though.’

  ‘ Why not?’

  ‘ Policy.’

  ‘ Can you send me a copy by fax?’

  ‘ Only if you have the necessary authority.’

  ‘ Does it make any difference if I tell you the guy is dead and I’m investigating his murder?’

  ‘ Not to me.’

  Bitch, Danny thought uncharitably. ‘I’ll get back to you.’ She hung up her phone with exaggerated softness, speculating as to why the woman would not give out the details. Maybe Fitch was more than just a target. An informant, possibly. She sniffed up, then dialled the overseas number again, but got no reply.

  ‘ So you are telling me that you have no idea about the statements made by me and Terry regarding Jacky Lee’s murder?’ Henry’s voice was incredulous.

  ‘ Swear it.’ Connor crossed his heart.

  ‘ And you didn’t know there was an undercover operation up and running against Lee and subsequently against Gunk and Gary?’

  ‘ Hope to die.’

  ‘ Shit.’ Henry shook his head in major disbelief ‘What the hell is Davison playing at? He said he would tell you, his deputy, about me, Terry and the statements.’

  ‘ I have picked up on some odd goings-on with him, I have to admit. For instance he actually interviewed Thompson and Elphick himself, which is pretty damn unusual. Came out from both interviews saying neither had made any admission — which we knew, because they’d already been spoken to by interview teams anyway. He justified himself doing the interviews by saying that someone had to have a real good stab at them as none of the interviewing team seemed to be getting anywhere.’

  ‘ Presumably the interviews were taped?’

  Connor nodded.

  ‘ Have you listened to them?’

  ‘ No. Davison kept hold of the copy tapes. The master copies are sealed and stored in the system by now.’

  ‘ That’s obviously when he let it slip, intentionally or otherwise, to Gunk and Gazzer about mine and Terry’s statements,’ Henry concluded. ‘The stupid man! I’m just… speechless — and angry. Just what the hell does he think he’s playing at?’

  ‘ I have an idea on that score,’ Connor said.

  Henry waited.

  ‘ He’s got six unsolved murders on his plate at the moment, not including Jacky Lee. I don’t think the murders are connected in any way or anything like that, except that none of the offenders have been arrested and charged yet. There’s a feeling going round the Force that if they’d all been better managed from the top, there would have been results by now. For what it’s worth, I think Davison is getting twitchy and he’s panicking. This could be a last-ditch effort to get a good result by whatever means possible.’ Connor shrugged. ‘But it’s only a theory.’

  ‘ And a bloody good one. He got me hammered. I could just as easily be dead now,’ Henry whined bitterly. ‘He’s always been a loose cannon, ever since being a PC.’

  ‘ What are you going to do about it?’

  Henry thought for a moment. ‘No idea just yet. Instinct tells me I should try to take him down. I usually follow my instinct, even if it lands me in deep pooh.’

  ‘ You’d probably have a justified grievance against him, but until you hear what’s on those tapes, you might be struggling for evidence. Tell you what, I’ll try and get authorisation — on the QT — to break the seal on the master tapes, have a listen and then get back to you.’

  ‘ That sounds brilliant. Thanks,’ Henry said genuinely.

  ‘ Let me buy you another coffee, then you can tell me what your plans are regarding Gunk and Gazzer.’ Connor signalled to a waitress. ‘I need to think about what to do with Davison, too. As an SIO I know he can do what the hell he likes, but running an undercover operation without letting me know is just a bit on the naughty side, not to say downright irresponsible. He’ll have to have some bloody good reasons for it. I think the guy’s in the shit, don’t you, H?’

  Before he could answer, his mobile rang on his belt. ‘Frank Jagger,’ he said, straight back into role without thinking about it.

  ‘ Frankie baby, how you feeling?’ came Gary Thompson’s voice brightly.

  ‘ Unbelievable as it might seem, I feel like fuck,’ he responded and held a cautionary finger up to Connor to keep him quiet.

  ‘ Aw, you soft git. Still interested in business? I know we were rudely interrupted last night.’

  ‘ Suppose so.’

  ‘ Where are you?’

  ‘ City centre — mooching around.’

  ‘ Get your arse back to your hotel and we’ll pick you up and go for a drive.’

  Henry did not like the sound of that. Sometimes people who went for drives found themselves on mystery tours, deposited in canals with their heads blown off

  ‘ I haven’t got a lot of time, Gazzer,’ Henry said, deciding to exert some authority. It was important that things progressed on his terms as much as possible from now on. ‘I’11 be in the coffee-house at the hotel and we can talk there.’ Henry had no intention of doing anything further with them in private or without back-up.

  ‘ You’re too suspicious, Frank,’ Thompson chided.

  ‘ Yeah, right, and I really can trust you.’

  ‘ Be there in fifteen.’

  The call ended. Henry looked across at Connor who was eager to know its contents. Henry told him nothing because it was better and safer that way. ‘Got to go. We’ll talk soon.’ He pushed himself up with a groan of pain. ‘Oh, there is one thing, John. Thought you’d like to know, if you don’t already.’

  ‘ What’s that?’

  ‘ The Russians are coming.’

  Henry did not have time to get wired up before the meet with Gary Thompson in the hotel coffee-shop. He wasn’t too concerned about missing any evidence because he saw this rendezvous as the prelude to several others he would be engineering in the near future, but he did have time to make a quick call to Terry Briggs.

  During the walk back to the hotel, Henry made the decision to stick with the operation for the time being, even thoug
h he was fuming with Davison. He had considered pulling out, but his professionalism as a cop — someone who hated to see the guilty go unpunished — made him want to be instrumental in putting Thompson, Elphick and hopefully Jacky Lee’s actual killer away for a long time. He had no doubt in his mind that the terrible duo had set Lee up and it was now down to his skill as an undercover cop to get them to admit that to him, on tape, in the not too distant future.

  Yes, he would stay where he was and see the job through to its natural conclusion, whatever that might be.

  Then he would dedicate his life to shafting Rupert Davison good and proper.

  Twenty minutes after leaving Sticky Fingers he was sitting by one of the windows in the hotel coffee-shop, overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, having ordered his umpteenth dose of caffeine.

  Thompson’s BMW pulled up outside the hotel a few minutes later. Thompson stepped out from the rear seat and the car drew away. Henry got a brief glimpse of Elphick at the wheel and the shape of a man in the front passenger seat. Henry assumed it was Drozdov.

  Gazzer was smartly dressed, looked the part. Slicked-back hair, the ubiquitous earring, mobile phone in one hand, he trotted in, nodding at the doorman, very cool, collected and sharp. A million miles from the individual Henry had seen scuttling away moments before the murder of his boss. He had obviously grown into the vacuum created by Lee’s death. And yet, although Gazzer had the majority of the peanut brain he and Gunk shared between them, Henry doubted if he really had the nous to take on Lee’s mantle, run his businesses and make them a success.

  Gazzer flashed a winning smile, said, ‘Morning, Frank,’ sat down.

  ‘ Gazzer,’ Henry nodded.

  He pointed at Henry, clicking his thumb like the hammer of a gun. ‘Not Gazzer from now on. Gary, please. More in keeping with the position in life, credibility being an issue and all that.’

  ‘ Sure, fine. Gary it is.’

  Thompson peered closely at Henry’s battered face. ‘Mm, we did make a bit of a mess of you, didn’t we?’ he admitted.

  ‘ I won’t disagree with that.’

  ‘ Not that I’m apologising for it. I think it was totally necessary — and anyway, we needed to put on a little bit of a show for Nikolai.’